thrown away.
When I opened the lid, I was surprised to find not cornstarch, but several items that most certainly didn’t belong in a freezer. Inside the tub, there was a small jewelry box, a few envelopes, and a crumpled-up piece of paper. That was odd. Why would anyone stash a few random items in an empty container in our freezer of all places? And who did this stuff belong to? I opened my mouth to ask Brandon, but before I could say anything, I got a weird feeling in my gut that I couldn’t explain. I closed the lid and set the tub aside.
While I continued making sandwich after sandwich as orders kept pouring in, I couldn’t help but think about the stash I had found in the freezer. Maybe I was being overly paranoid about everything because of Dave’s murder, but for some reason I felt the overwhelming need to snoop through its contents. Or maybe it was just because I was nosy. The lunch rush was beginning to wind down, so I said to Brandon, “I’m going to make a phone call. Will you be okay by yourself for a few minutes?”
Brandon shrugged. “I guess.”
Good enough for me. Once he turned back around to the grill, I grabbed the tub and hurried into the office. I opened the tub again and took out the jewelry box, the envelopes, and the piece of paper and laid them on the desk. Picking up the jewelry box first, I was surprised to find a beautiful pendant inside. It was a small, greenish gemstone surrounded by delicate silver filigree work. It was lovely. The pendant looked rather old, but in a good, vintage kind of way, like it had belonged to someone’s grandmother.
I set it aside and smoothed out the wadded-up piece of paper. The note read,
Franklin Motel, Room 8, Johnny.
Why did the Franklin Motel sound familiar to me? I sat down in the chair and opened up an Internet browser on the computer. I Googled “Franklin Motel Nashville” and pulled up their website. When I looked at the picture on the home page, I instantly realized why I knew the name and chuckled to myself. My slutty roommate from my freshman year of college used to stay there with her boyfriend when he came to town for a booty call. It was the cheapest motel on this side of town, and for good reason. The place was nasty and in a bad neighborhood, and it made my apartment building look like the Ritz. I didn’t know who “Johnny” from the note was, but if he was staying at the Franklin Motel, he didn’t have very high standards.
Finally, I reached for the envelopes. There were three of them—all random pieces of mail, two junk and one bill. They all had the same address on Vanderbilt Place, but each had a different mailbox number and a different name: Whitney Birch, Jared Drummond, and Aaron Saltzman. These names weren’t familiar to me, but that wasn’t surprising. I went back to the computer and Googled the Vanderbilt Place address. It was for the mailroom where all of the Vanderbilt students’ mailboxes were housed, so that made these the addressees of three Vandy students. I sighed as I studied the items on the desk. If there was a meaningful connection between a pendant, a crappy motel, and students’ mail, I didn’t know what it was.
“Hey, Jules, how’s it going?” Pete’s voice coming from the open doorway snapped me out of my thoughts.
I groaned. “We are so busy. It seems that everyone wants to hang out at a murder scene.”
“That’s kinda sick, if you ask me, but I’m not complaining about the extra customers. Hey, where did you find that?” He came over and picked up the open jewelry box from the desk.
“In a really odd place. I’ll give you three guesses.”
Pete grinned, always ready to play along. “An odd place, hmm? I’m going to guess…hidden in Rhonda’s bra.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Eww. No. That’s a terrible guess. And what would I be doing in Rhonda’s bra?”
“I don’t know. Exploring your sexuality?”
My eyebrows shot up. “With Rhonda?”
He made a face. “Bad visual. You
When I opened the lid, I was surprised to find not cornstarch, but several items that most certainly didn’t belong in a freezer. Inside the tub, there was a small jewelry box, a few envelopes, and a crumpled-up piece of paper. That was odd. Why would anyone stash a few random items in an empty container in our freezer of all places? And who did this stuff belong to? I opened my mouth to ask Brandon, but before I could say anything, I got a weird feeling in my gut that I couldn’t explain. I closed the lid and set the tub aside.
While I continued making sandwich after sandwich as orders kept pouring in, I couldn’t help but think about the stash I had found in the freezer. Maybe I was being overly paranoid about everything because of Dave’s murder, but for some reason I felt the overwhelming need to snoop through its contents. Or maybe it was just because I was nosy. The lunch rush was beginning to wind down, so I said to Brandon, “I’m going to make a phone call. Will you be okay by yourself for a few minutes?”
Brandon shrugged. “I guess.”
Good enough for me. Once he turned back around to the grill, I grabbed the tub and hurried into the office. I opened the tub again and took out the jewelry box, the envelopes, and the piece of paper and laid them on the desk. Picking up the jewelry box first, I was surprised to find a beautiful pendant inside. It was a small, greenish gemstone surrounded by delicate silver filigree work. It was lovely. The pendant looked rather old, but in a good, vintage kind of way, like it had belonged to someone’s grandmother.
I set it aside and smoothed out the wadded-up piece of paper. The note read,
Franklin Motel, Room 8, Johnny.
Why did the Franklin Motel sound familiar to me? I sat down in the chair and opened up an Internet browser on the computer. I Googled “Franklin Motel Nashville” and pulled up their website. When I looked at the picture on the home page, I instantly realized why I knew the name and chuckled to myself. My slutty roommate from my freshman year of college used to stay there with her boyfriend when he came to town for a booty call. It was the cheapest motel on this side of town, and for good reason. The place was nasty and in a bad neighborhood, and it made my apartment building look like the Ritz. I didn’t know who “Johnny” from the note was, but if he was staying at the Franklin Motel, he didn’t have very high standards.
Finally, I reached for the envelopes. There were three of them—all random pieces of mail, two junk and one bill. They all had the same address on Vanderbilt Place, but each had a different mailbox number and a different name: Whitney Birch, Jared Drummond, and Aaron Saltzman. These names weren’t familiar to me, but that wasn’t surprising. I went back to the computer and Googled the Vanderbilt Place address. It was for the mailroom where all of the Vanderbilt students’ mailboxes were housed, so that made these the addressees of three Vandy students. I sighed as I studied the items on the desk. If there was a meaningful connection between a pendant, a crappy motel, and students’ mail, I didn’t know what it was.
“Hey, Jules, how’s it going?” Pete’s voice coming from the open doorway snapped me out of my thoughts.
I groaned. “We are so busy. It seems that everyone wants to hang out at a murder scene.”
“That’s kinda sick, if you ask me, but I’m not complaining about the extra customers. Hey, where did you find that?” He came over and picked up the open jewelry box from the desk.
“In a really odd place. I’ll give you three guesses.”
Pete grinned, always ready to play along. “An odd place, hmm? I’m going to guess…hidden in Rhonda’s bra.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Eww. No. That’s a terrible guess. And what would I be doing in Rhonda’s bra?”
“I don’t know. Exploring your sexuality?”
My eyebrows shot up. “With Rhonda?”
He made a face. “Bad visual. You
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